


Girl at Stake

by Probable_Disappointment



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Gen, Kinda Mabill but also kinda not, Other, dreamscape, everyone is sad, including me, mostly compliant with canon up to DAMVTF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Probable_Disappointment/pseuds/Probable_Disappointment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mabel and Dipper Pines return to Gravity Falls for their seventh year, where old enemies stir again and cycles draw to a close.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pine and Cigarettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mabel and Dipper return to Gravity Falls

 

          A small, beat down sedan sped between pine trees, slices of sun and shadow playing across the worn-down surface of the car. Dipper Pines drummed softly on the steering wheel with one hand while another reached into the worn pocket of his coat. He flipped out a lighter and held it to the dangling cigarette from his lips. His eyes darted to his sister’s back in the seat next to him, her frizzy hair tumbling wildly with the bouncy road. Dipper cracked the window, careful to be quiet. He much preferred his sister this way, unconscious, than he did awake.

          Mabel’s eyes flickered beneath her lids as she dreamed, the cool of the window on her forehead seeping into her mind, turning her dreams smooth as marble. She felt her footsteps echoing on the stone, searched the still grey world for a flash of yellow. She grinned, but there was no humor in her voice when Mabel spoke.

          “Just because you don’t show up doesn’t mean you’re not here, genius.” The floor beneath became tile, she knew without looking they were tiny triangles. She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I get it.” She felt him taunting her; then, unbidden, memories reflected in the marble. _Flying, floating, the earth upturned. She felt herself caught turning slowly, trancelike, in front of a new universe. She felt herself let go._ Mabel shut her eyes, put acid in her words.

          “That is enough, Bill.” She waited for a response. Nothing, then a whisper at her sleeve. The scent of pine trees and smoke. _Her eyes opened, not to stone but to flames, a forest burning. She remembered a brand in the sky, heard the screaming._ Those aren’t people anymore, nothing that afraid is human _. Arms around her, her family-a flash of hope_. She wished she remembered more, wished that the memories in her mind could fight what she constructed for herself. How it had to have happened-how Stan had blamed Ford, had gotten too close to the blazing X in the sky. How Ford only had to push once. She drifted, swimming in tar.

          Then again, maybe just the black was better. Maybe just the smell of cigarettes and pine.

          Cigarettes.

Mabel’s eyelids flew open and she sat upright immediately, her vision adjusting to the road in front of her. She glanced quickly at Dipper, caught his eyes flashing back to the road as if he hadn’t been looking. She frowned.

          “Mom would cry if she saw you smoking.” He sniffed, blowing smoke more in the car than out of it. Mabel rolled down her window.

          “She would cry if she saw a lot of things, Mabel.” His leg jerked irritably, the car jumping forward. He reached for the radio, cigarette ash threatening to tumble from the white paper. He fumbled until he found NPR. “Leave me alone about what she’d cry about, you’re lucky you still have an excuse to get out for the summer.” He turned the dial up, a nasal drone filling the car. Mabel rolled her window back up.

          The cigarette ash fell onto Dipper’s collar.

          “You only listen to NPR here.” Dipper glared at her, and Mabel shrugged, a bitter restlessness needing to break the tension of the stiff, polite, silent road trip. She felt her face grow hot as she rambled on. “I’m just saying, you know you do, you know you only listen to this stupid station when we’re here, because _Ford_ does. You do it to impress him.” Dipper’s jaw set, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Wild recklessness drove her. “You’re still trying to convince him you’re not like Stan, aren’t you?”

          The brakes slammed; the beat up car, Stan’s beat up car, jerking to a stop. Dipper punched the radio, plunging the car into icy silence. His shaking hands lit another cigarette as a truck drove by, rubbernecking. He took a deep pull, then shut his eyes, and Mabel felt sick when she saw a steady stream of tears fall from his eyes. Dipper drove on, crying.

           _Nice one, fallen star._

          The rest of the drive passed in silence, trees flashing by in rows of straight pine, infinitely repeating into the woods beyond. As they drew closer, Mabel began the familiar ritual of counting signs of the incident. Each year it took longer, but the knot in her stomach tightened bit by bit as they drew closer to Gravity Falls. Burnt trees, strange debris, the litter of a traumatized society. Every ounce of destruction settled like a weight, a peaked roof above her head, a trap.

          Once they passed the outer ring, and began to wind through town, it perked up, an eclectic mix of new and old buildings, a cheery enthusiasm from every neighbor, and a few innocuous spots where the eye seemed to drift with a sense of unease. A few heads turned as the familiar car coughed through town, a few mutters floated by, but mostly the town kept quiet. It tended to be the best choice of action when it came to deal with the Pine Twins.

          Dipper drove on, any trace of the scared kid he’d been earlier wiped away to the faithful mutter of talk radio. The car drove on, into a grey, frozen forest. The trees twisted, animalistic, frozen in tormented, surreal shapes. The branches reached for them. Mabel and Dipper stared forward, unknowingly united in their need to ignore the grasping hands of the tortured trees-unknowingly divided in that only one could see them moving again. But Mabel stayed silent, her mind whirling with mental notes.  Her thoughts didn’t still until they reached the Mystery Shack.

          The years had not been kind to the shack. Stan’s advertisements remained, the language now warped and unsettling, the colors bleached and sick. What once had been charming disarray had turned to an air of abandonment and malaise, seven years pulling splinters from the boards and crabgrass to the earth. Mabel stretched her way out of the car, worn converse scratching the gritty drive. Dipper had already popped the trunk, shouldering his bags and slouching toward the house. Mabel knew he would still put his clothing in the bedroom upstairs, the one they used to share, out of habit. He never slept there anymore, spending his nights on the couch or a cot in the basement, staying up all hours with Ford, stopping in for a change of clothes before another four days’ absence. She wouldn’t mind as much, if she had anywhere to go.

 _Three weeks until Candy and Grenda get back. Hold out until then._ Mabel sighed, grabbing her pack and duffle, the faded rose fabric a memory of when she was far more optimistic. She strode toward the house, feeling the familiar twinge as she crossed the faithful unicorn hair boundary. The house loomed, colorless above her. Mabel sympathized.

She swung open the entrance to the Mystery Shack, passed the now-empty gift shop at a clip, and started to climb the creaking steps to her bedroom. From the depths of the house she heard Ford call out sleepily.

“Dipper?” She sped up, and quickly found herself bouncing into the wall, catching ahold of Dipper as he teetered against the rail. He straightened and jerked his jacket away, the rough denim scratching her fingers. He stomped away towards Ford, and her apologies died in her throat.

She felt Bill revel in the tension.

“Shut up.” The gloating feeling grew hotter. “Please, Bill. I get it.” And though she knew it was only a ploy, Mabel couldn’t help but feel flattered when the feeling went away.

After she heard the familiar ritualistic tromp of feet down the basement stairs, Mabel crept downstairs to the kitchen, braced for the worst. The tile, covered in a stubborn layer of grime, thudded rather than clicked, and each surface seemed coated in something, whether a dish, a stain, or some horrific concoction Mabel couldn’t comprehend. She crossed to the fridge and opened it, hoping the cool air would give an illusion of cleanliness. Instead, stagnant air greeted her, along with a few reeking bottles of condiments. She crouched, muttering, and found the fridge unplugged, a thick orange cable in its place. She followed it to the living room, powering a tiny hotplate amid the clutter, pointlessly glowing cherry red.

Bill’s cackling felt like sand in every crack of her skin. She hated herself for agreeing with him, hated Ford for the pitiful disarray. Skin jumping, she viciously switched the plugs, attacking the grime of the kitchen with fervor. Only when the kitchen gleamed did she leave, grabbing her pack and the rusty but serviceable bike that was dumped there three years prior. She pedaled towards town, hell-bent on a purpose. Ford may be able to survive off sheer pride, but Mabel needed to eat.


	2. Playthings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill decides to show Mabel his newest trick

     By the time Mabel could cobble together an acceptable grocery haul, haphazardly balance the bags on the rickety bicycle, and begin the uphill pedal home, the clouds had thickened. The early dusk made her uneasy, sometimes instead of tree trunks in her vision she caught glimpses of tall, pointed spires, angular spears jutting to the darkening skies.  She pedaled faster, shoes slipping, worried. Bill stayed quiet though, and when Mabel crossed the Shack’s boundary again, it was with a steady stride.

     She slunk into the house, turning on each lamp, then setting the old television on infomercials. Bill mocked her, and she felt herself chuckling too - she certainly wasn’t subtle as she tried to fill the house. She tried to focus on mundane tasks, such as putting the groceries away, but it didn’t seem to matter - her eyes began to flutter and to stick, and Mabel felt herself grow dizzy with exhaustion.

     “C’mon Bill, if you want to talk, fine, but at least let me get to bed first. Don’t just drop me on the floor.”

     He let her climb the stairs to her room, and as Mabel tumbled into sleep she swore she sensed-relief.

     The next thing she knew, she was staring into the sun, a thousand colors burning her retinas, hearing an otherworldly yowl of pain. Then, nothing. She found herself, hands clenched at her temples, tear stained features twisted with pain . She blinked, aftereffects dancing across her vision, a warmth could be felt behind her. When Bill spoke, it sent electricity through her bones.

     “Well hi there Shooting Star, aren’t you a sight for sore eye?”

     “Hello, Bill.” Mabel blinked again and straightened, glaring at the familiar triangle suspended before her. “Did you really have to show off like that?”

     “What can I say, I couldn’t wait for my favorite playthings to come home!” Bill spun around her, a glowing ring of spikes, and every word echoed like ecstasy. “Though I must admit, you’re a chip off the old pyramid!” Bill’s top corner flew apart, spinning violently around Mabel, countering the spin of his body. Mabel’s toes lifted away from the earth and she floated, suspended in gold and bitter triumph. The smell of cigarettes flared. She twisted, angry.

     “Put me _down_ , Bill!” Her arms seemed to stretch, reaching like tree branches, shooting away from her, through the cyclone, and she could imagine her skin shredding away from the friction . Bill slowed, and they both tumbled, exhausted to the earth. Mabel stared at her forearms, angular patterns glinting across her skin in bright yellow. She swallowed hard, then met the single eye before her, her eyes boring through the distractions and the memories she felt Bill tossing at her. She took a step forward, feeling herself grow warm and she held her gaze. “We’ve done this before, Bill. Why is it you always make me do this?”

     He didn’t answer, only throwing more memories into her path; Dipper, Stan, Ford, rows of frozen lockers in her high school, lonely walks packed full of people, Dipper’s crying through the walls, year after year of growing silence fusing her jaw into marble. Mabel didn’t flinch, her eyes dry, letting the reminders flow. She found black emptiness beyond the memories, beyond the distractions. Mabel kept staring, her voice ringing a command through the dreamscape though her lips remained sealed. “Get to the point, Bill.”

     His little yellow form popped into being again, anew, twirling around her with the essence of a playful cat.

     “Aww, don’t go Nova, kid, I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t **_lost it on me._** ” For an instant his voice thundered, and Mable caught a glimpse of familiar gray hair in Bill’s eye. “Come on, give your old pal a hug!” His thin arms whipped around Mabel like ropes, squeezing out her breath, what felt like thousands of gentle hands twined through her hair. Through the impossible cage of his arms, Mabel caught Bill’s eye - she said nothing, did nothing, held herself still and neutral, and waited.

     She felt herself land heavily on uneven wood planks, limbs akimbo. Bill’s radiant form rushed by, throwing mock sunlight on the narrow staircase, and Mabel hurried along with him, down the basement steps.

     “Bill- what are you doing?” He danced, one moment looming before her, the next darting ahead, somehow everywhere at once.

     “It’s nice to see you again kid, so nice of you to come back for our annual Summer of Suffering, but I’ll get to the _point_.” He poked Mabel in the stomach, and she felt a quaking heat spread from her navel. “I’ve had a whole year to learn a new trick; thanks to your sick perversion of a good, old-fashioned unicorn ring - and while I doubt your tiny brain understands true boredom, let me tell you-“ He flashed red, a wave of scorching heat hovered over his knife-like edges. His words thundered like a curse.

     “ ** _It’s just a delight._** ” Mabel’s ear shook with white noise, but as quickly as the rage came it frizzled away again under sardonic control. Bill zoomed around her, shrinking down to a miniature sun, and whispered in her ear. “Come along, Shooting Star, I want to show you my new trick.” Mabel considered stopping, turning back up the steps, but as Bill swept through the door to Ford’s lab, she was keeping pace.

     Bill flew to the ceiling, casting harsh light on everyone below.

     “You see, I got tired of peeping through shapes, I found it a little…undignified.” He reached an impossibly long hand to her and drew her up with him, Mabel’s arm prickling and numb. He swept his top hat to her in a mock-gallant fashion, nestling it on her head. It fell, somehow too big, and settled over her ears. She thought she heard a voice crying out, but before she could discern it, Bill snatched back his hat with one hand, another stretching around her shoulder, while a sudden third arm lightly gripped her chin and tilted toward the forms of Dipper and Ford below them. She could hear the giggle in his voice as he murmured to her.

     “Watch and learn, Shooting Star, because I’ve really been working on my listening skills.” Ford was slouched over the desk, one arm defensively curved around the notebook he scribbled on. Dipper sat next to him, knees drawn up to his chest as if he’d been sitting there a long time. Mabel shot a glance at Bill, surprised.

     “I thought you could only see through your portals. When did you learn this?” Bill’s hand pinched at her jaw as he twitched her head back.

     “I guess you could say I’ve been working on turning this old dump into my own personal playground.” Her vision blurred, then refocused on the room, her eye drawn to each triangle there, scratched in the walls, doodles on Ford’s notebooks, even a few of Ford’s leftover artifacts of Bill. She saw Dipper raise his head and check the room, suspicious, but then Ford broke the silence and Dipper turned attentively.

     “After further, extensive exploration into the ruins beneath Gravity Falls I think I have found a new system that could serve a function in a new portal design.” He wrote feverishly as he narrated it, and Mabel couldn’t tell if he was even aware of Dipper’s presence. In front of Ford’s journal lay what looked like a few buttons in shades of blue. “I believe each capsule contains a previously unfathomable  amount of power, possibly enough to manipulate dimensions!” Dipper scrubbed a hand across his forehead.

     “I don’t know, Uncle Ford, are you sure? I just-I don’t know how much more you can find in that ship. What if there’s just nothing useful left?” Ford didn’t look at him, focusing instead on the journal. Bill laughed, swinging around until he floated face to face with her, his one eye screwed up in delight.

     “Hey, guess what your Great Uncle is playing with.” Bill’s voice tightened with laughter. “They’re button covers- they’re not even needed!” He doubled over, releasing Mabel in his fit of glee. “he’s- he’s managed to find the only thing-th-hahaha! The only thing on the ship more useless- _than he is_!!!” Bill cackled madly, and Mabel felt sick. She sunk down to the floor, close enough to see Ford’s haggard eyes. Bill kept wheezing, but she tuned it out, staring at her uncle. He snatched a button and crossed through Mabel like water, striding towards a dusty microscope. Dipper scrambled up too, following behind Ford protectively.

     “Careful, Grunkle Ford-“ but Ford snorted and shoved a glass slide off the stand, letting it shatter as he inspected the round blue disk.

     “Really, there’s no need to be so _suffocating_.” Dipper stilled, wounded. He watched Ford tinker with the lenses in silence, his shoulders sloped, shirt already rumpled hopelessly, eyes already tired. Ford squinted into the microscope, but didn’t seem to find anything, his ears turned pink, and he snapped at Dipper. “Well? Don’t just stand there, you focus it, I can’t see a blasted thing. Dipper leaned over obediently, and peered through the lens.

     “Grunkle Ford, look- it’s already focused- oh.” Dipper knelt down again, on level with Ford’s blushing face, and removed his glasses with a tenderness that wrenched tears from Mabel’s eyes and acid from her gut; as her brother wiped off the glasses and placed them softly back on Ford’s face. His eyes focused for half a second onto Dipper’s - confused, then his brow furrowed and his eyes grew wild and scared.

     “St- Stan? Stan- why did you come back?” Dipper’s face dropped and he fell backwards.

     “No- Uncle Ford it’s me, Dipper-“ Ford stood quickly, towering over Dipper, both terrifying and frail; unknowingly silhouetted against Bill’s shining, gloating form. Mabel watched, paralyzed, wishing she was coward enough to wake up.

     “You can’t come back- I didn’t bring you back- you- you’re not Stan, you’re not my brother!” As Dipper tried to scramble to his feet, hands up, soothing and scared, Ford swung wildly. One bony hand caught the bottom of Dipper’s chin and he fell back against Ford’s desk. Mabel felt herself crying still, calling to Bill desperately.

     “ _Please!_ Please leave him alone. Please, Bill.” His edges wavered as his laughter choked off, and Mabel felt the full attention of his eye fixed upon her. The room hung tense, frozen in time, and Mabel let Bill see. She held her chin up and let him see her hurt, let him see he’d won.

     Then she blinked, Bill was gone, and she felt a burning kiss on her cheek.

     “We can play more later, Superstar.”

     She felt the room blurring, but held her gaze on her brother as Ford crumpled to him.

     “Dipper- Dipper I’m so sorry son, I- I just don’t think I’ve been sleeping too well, I- I’m-“ His voice caught, Mabel drifted away watching Dipper help Ford stand again, still gentle.

     As Mabel awoke, she heard the remnants of a familiar cry, the cry she’d heard and lost earlier-

      _“Sweetie? Sweetie is that you? Mabel?”_ She rolled to her side and let her tears die silently on the pillow, listening to the memory of her Grunkle Stan’s voice.

 

 


	3. Dawning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mabel tries to connect with her family. Mabel fails to connect much with her family.

Mabel sat up, quickly smearing away any trace of tears on her face. She snatched her journal from her bedside, glanced at the bare mattress opposite her, and wrote quickly in neatly round handwriting.

  * Bill’s new trick-eavesdropping

  * “perverted” unicorn boundary?

  * I thought I heard Grunkle Stan




She chewed her lip, searching for any other clues she could remember. With a sigh, she sharply crossed through the last bullet, instead writing: “just dreaming” in the margins. Mabel huffed. Why did Bill decide to show her that? It could have been a reminder of his abilities, just a power play to throw her off guard. But it felt like Bill was as trapped as Mabel-he was too easily controlled, too obedient. Maybe he was really just trying to hurt her, maybe - she felt chills - maybe Bill just missed how her agony tasted.

Mabel wished she couldn’t feel Bill agree.

She snapped the journal shut and hopped out of bed, her mind stubbornly blank as she dressed.  The basement’s door groaned open; voices mumbled indistinctly downstairs. Mabel hesitated, and before she headed downstairs paused to write a final note.

  * Dipper’s been lying to me.




Her feet hit the steps just barely too loud as Mabel made her way downstairs. She heard Dipper and Ford moving around in the living room, so Mabel ducked quickly into the kitchen, hating herself a little. Instead of the grocery bags she expected to see, Mabel found two crumpled five dollar bills. She grabbed a muffin and poured coffee, adding sugar. She, stirred, tasted, and paused. Mabel added more sugar. She grabbed the mug and considered the empty, newly clean, kitchen. After a moment’s pause she sighed, and walked into the musty living room.

Ford sat in the armchair, half of his toast uneaten, seemingly into his third cup of coffee based on his fingers dancing on the worn chair arm. Dipper however, slouched on the couch looking rumpled and half-asleep. Mabel sat next to him, careful to leave space. She sipped her own coffee, imagining the caffeine chasing Bill back to the corners of her mind. Her fingers unwrapped her breakfast, eyes determinedly straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the others directly.

“Thanks for putting the groceries away.” She glanced at Dipper, who nodded. His eyes were downcast, sinking into the blue circles below.

“ Did you fall asleep early?”

“Something like that.” Mabel’s voice stung as it left her, and Dipper must have heard it, for he fell silent. They rested in silence that was close to comfortable, filled by the tinny television speakers and occasionally interrupted by a murmur from Ford to nobody in particular. Mabel, mutually immersed in Gravity Falls’ trademark local television with Dipper, felt a happy aching familiarity. When she hopped up to refill her coffee, she grabbed a second mug on a whim and filled it for Dipper, secretly slipping just a little sugar into the otherwise black brew. Dipper smiled at her thankfully when she sat back down.

They’d all but forgotten about Ford until without warning, he stood and turned the television off. Dipper tensed, looking ready to hop to his feet, like a trained dog. Mabel sunk into the couch as far as she could, tasting trouble. The sun cast a triangular shadow on the floor.

“Some of my things have been tampered with here.” He peered at the table, then whipped his head to Mabel. ”Mabel? Have you been touching any of my experiments?”

Mabel stayed carefully still. “No, no Uncle Ford I don’t think so.” He cast about in the disarray of the room, pulling out the hot plate Mabel had unplugged the night before. His eyes looked so stern, so clear, so at odds with the surreal conversation Mabel found herself in. She breathed slowly, feeling numbness in her hands, anger biting her heels. She tried to smile.

“Oh, well, yeah. I found it plugged in last night and needed to put the groceries away.” Ford’s face didn’t move from its accusatory mask, and Mabel’s next words tasted like salt. “I’m so sorry if I disturbed anything.”

It didn’t matter, though. Ford wrinkled his nose, turning away from her. He stalked out, hissing caustically.

“You’d think you’d have learned by now not to meddle.” Mabel kept her temper until the basement door snapped shut, then slammed her fist onto the coffee table with a crack. Dipper’s coffee sloshed over him.

“God DAMN it, Mabel! What the-what was that?” She stood, pacing, hot. She flung her hands, one more gingerly than the other. Dipper grabbed her elbow, smelling like coffee. “Can’t you just act like a fucking person?” She ripped her arm away and whirled to face Dipper.

“I’m _trying_ , Dipper-”

“No, you’re sulking and flying off the handle, like you always do!” His fingers pulled restlessly at his shirt. Mabel’s heart beat louder, and her eyes landed on Dipper’s bruised jaw.

“I’m-I’m tired of Ford hurting people.” Dipper’s eyes flashed in recognition, his hand flew to hide the mark. Mabel started forward, but the steel in her brother’s voice stopped her.

“What does that mean?” He didn’t allow her room to respond. “How-Mabel how did you know that?” Mabel’s forward step reversed, she stumbled back.

“Dipper-I-I dreamed-” Dipper looked ill.

“You _dreamed_. I’m sure. Can’t go too long without your old _friend,_ can you?” He slammed the empty mug down and started after Ford, deaf to Mabel.

“Dipper it’s not like I can get rid of him; I hate that he can get into my head, I’m not _with_ him!” Gone was the glimpse of her brother, and Mabel chased his afterimage fiercely. “Dipper! Don’t leave me alone with Bill!”

He stopped, shoulders heaving. He turned to look at Mabel, and she found nothing in his eyes.

“ _You_ let him in, Mabel, not me. I’m sorry.” He swallowed hard. “But how am I supposed to trust you, when I know what’s in your head?”  She let him go, watched Dipper as he crossed to the old vending machine that hid the lab. The pad lit up weakly as Dipper’s shaking fingers stabbed the code in. He paused once more before beginning his descent, voice quiet and cruel.

“He’s blames you, Mabel. It’s not like you disagree.” The door hissed shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I have a few more written but editing is hard and I am stupid busy so! I'll do my best!


	4. Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mabel bounces from one jerk to another.

Mabel’s fingernails etched crescents in her palms. She stood, knees locked, eyes fixed on the dimly lit vending machine that hid Ford’s basement lab. Her mouth skewed to the side, a desperate grimace holding in tears. She waited. With every pound of her heart, blood rushed in and out of her head, the pulsing radiating across her skin, rattling the thin fabric of her henley. Still Mabel waited, rigid, frozen against the urge to crumble and weep like a child; she felt the scarlet ebb away from her vision. Mabel lifted her chin and walked mechanically, too smoothly and too quickly. She rushed out of the shack, pushing desperately against the soap bubble of the unicorn ring, feet picking up into a run. The trees blinked as Mabel whirled by, and she found herself tripping, tumbling to a rest at the mossy base of that familiar birch tree.

She came to at the same tree, sitting at the center of a galaxy made of Bill’s eyes. Mabel dug her hands into the space around her and pulled out something familiar, a barely-itchy sweater she’d made as a child. She pulled it around herself, the wool feeling like armor. She stood, silently calling out to the thousand blinking eyes, and watched as they flowed together into Bill.

“Well, gee, _some_ body must have missed me!” Mabel’s hand twitched, and a diamond of blazing gold caged the demon. His eye tilted courteously at the same time his hat did. “You’ve always been an artist, Sparkles. Look at what a pretty cage you made- _oops_!” Bill flashed, shattering the cage, and he flew sharply away.

Mabel cursed under her breath, then closed her eyes and pictured the click of a crossbow trigger. She opened them to see Bill, a golden arrow lodged firmly in his back, a golden thread pulling him to her, and his arms waving indignantly the whole way. He dangled in front of her, resigned.

“Alright, Shooting Star, what’s got you in a twist?” He poked her insolently on the nose, and Mabel briefly felt as if she’d licked a battery wire. She grimaced.

“What was the stunt you pulled last night, Bill? Since when can you exist on our plane like that, Bill?” Mabel flicked his corner, watching him spinning on the golden wire. She smiled as sweetly as she could. “Big mistake finding me in the Dreamscape, wasn’t it Bill? Didn’t think I’d catch on to your tricks.” Each time she said his name, Mabel felt her anger renew. “C’mon Bill. I want to know how you learned to affect Ford like that.” She stopped his spinning, her fingers grasping two of his corners, dwarfing him as he dangled on her string. She held him up to eye level, let every ounce of her fury set fire to her words.

“And then you’re going to tell me why you thought I wouldn’t _ruin_ you for it.” She visualised every ounce of pain she could onto him, watched burns appear on one edge, dents on the other, and a sticky black blood drip from the other. Bill’s arms cycled, helicopter blades trying to placate, droplets of him flying away.

“Woah, there, Star! You’re giving me too much credit.” He affected a deep red blush. “Don’t worry, I’m really quite _flat_ tered!” He rotated to his side, and Mabel lost her grip on his edges. Her arrow held, however, and she conceded her palm as Bill’s seat. He pouted. “I’d like to remind you that I am a being of limitless size.” He settled prissily into her palm all the same, stretching his arms behind him like a polygonal Roman.

“Now that I’m comfort-wait-” Bill snapped, and in Mabel’s hand he now lounged in a garish chintz fainting couch. She couldn’t fight back a laugh, and didn’t bother. She knew it would only feed his ego. Bill launched himself into performance mode, the dreamscape dimming around them, his body growing brighter. “It’s like this, kid, you single-handedly almost caused the apocalypse of your dimension, while spectacularly tearing your family apart-good on that one, by the way, you know how I’ve been trying to burn down _that_ forest!”

Mabel frowned at Bill, ignoring the ash he threw like confetti. She puffed a breath at him, blowing the ashes away. Bill pretended to be abashed, ostentatiously adjusting his hat.

“Ahem. _Anyway_ , not content to be an all-around party pooper, you also imprisoned the coolest guest at the party-” Bill blinked at Mabel flirtatiously, but she felt a new coldness rising from the demon. “You imprisoned me in a disgusting excuse for a unicorn ring, left me here with your used-up refuse, and hoped I would just _behave_ while everyone interesting was away?” She couldn’t identify the feeling coming from Bill-it was something new. Her voice just barely covered her confusion when she pressed Bill further.

“What’s wrong with the unicorn ring?” Bill’s eyes filled with flames.

“ _What isn’t wrong with your infernal unicorn ring?_ ” Mabel snatched her hand back, palm burning. Bill’s energy felt huge, felt like mountains, but he zoomed like a thorn over her skin in tiny circles. Mabel shook him off, hissing.

“What did I do wrong? It’s supposed to keep creatures like you from crossing it, doesn’t it do the job?”

“What did you do wrong? From the girl who assaulted a horse? Aren’t you pure of heart.” Mabel’s ears rang.

“That’s just something unicorns say, it doesn’t mean anything, it’s a-” Bill cut her off excitedly.

“A myth-stery to me to, for sure, but you should know by now, in my town, we like a lotta loopholes! Sure, those jerks have as much integrity as yours truly, but at least the girl who stole from them had a good reason.” Mabel watched Bill, trying and failing not to give away her apprehension.

“Wasn’t I the girl who set the boundary?” Bill’s roaring laughter came from the earth below her.

“Ahahaha! You were and you weren’t, Stargirl. You carbon-based lifeforms are so literal; you think just because your shells stay the same you do too.” Bill’s looming shape began to fade.

“The circle is tied to whoever set it. The girl who set the circle was pure of heart.” Mabel woke up, sweating.

_“You don’t really still think you’re pure of heart, do you?”_

Mabel looked down at her hand, still smarting. Etched in blood was a miniature Bill on her skin. Her hand shook, breath catching in her throat, exhilarated and terrified. She wished she understood Bill better, wished that after seven years of him in her head she could get a read on him. In some ways, the message was crystal clear. Mabel had tried to exit the boundaries of Bill’s power; so Bill marked Mabel to keep an eye on her. Mabel huffed. As if he hadn’t already been keeping an eye on her. Since she’d trapped Bill, Mabel hadn’t had a dream left untouched by the demon. He’d been in her head so long, she couldn’t always tell whose thoughts echoed in her brain. The first night Bill visited had been one of his cruelest.

He’d been bigger then, still strong with his near-brush with victory, but silent. It had been Mabel’s first night back in the Mystery Shack, she and Dipper shipped away again on their parents’ edicts to “reconnect.” They did nothing of the sort. Ford had been much more lucid, but it took him two more summers to even speak to her. She’d lain stubbornly in bed, refusing to look at Dipper’s empty mattress. It took her hours to fall asleep, but when Mabel did, it was into Bill’s outstretched hands. She’d planted her feet as best as she could in the shifting surface of his palms. Bill curved over her, his great fixed eye duller than Mabel had ever seen it. Transfixed, she felt waves of bitter hopelessness rush from the demon; the agony acting hypnotically on  Mabel. At thirteen, knees shaking, Mabel felt something dark within her answering the call-an equality with Bill.

But empathy did not immobilize her long. With a shout, Mabel broke the tension; imagining the twang of bow strings. Arrows arced into Bill’s form, thudding viciously. She remembered just last year, how they’d played the same game, how she’d infuriated him so. She laughed, calling a garishly feminine memory of a unicorn, and sent it plunging into Bill’s center. It was that night that Mabel learned the most important rules of the dreamscape: you can’t die, you just keep taking hits.

Mabel fought with Bill in her dreams for years. At first he seemed unaffected by her barrage, but every day Mabel dreamt of Bill, she attacked. Eventually he had to change tactics. Some nights Mabel found herself tearing furiously through labyrinths, others Bill appeared to face her outright. Countless nights, Mabel lay wounded, wishing for death yet writhing in agony; only to wake in her bed. Every so often, Mabel succeeded in besting the demon.

She found herself learning from him, though constantly watching for ulterior motives. Her mind sharpened, her guard up, her instincts sharpened. She learned how to survive through fear.

Three years of dreams, then one night she found Bill simply playing chess. She’d considered him, how much his frame had shrunk his his three years confined to the Mystery Shack. For reasons that still evaded her, Mabel stayed to watch, expecting a sudden attack the entire while.

Bill often tried to convince Mabel to play games with him, but Mabel preferred to watch him, memorizing the rules as he made them up. They still fought incessantly, but the hatred Mabel bore grew colder, more rational. She relished this new hate-far more useful than rage.

As Bill shrank in stature, his access to Mabel weakened. By Mabel’s fifth year away from the shack, she had grown adept at interpreting the subtle signs of Bill’s conscious, not trusting their weakening connection. She still didn’t know why it mattered to keep Bill around, but Mabel resented his absence as the demon withdrew. As she sat contemplating Bill’s mark, Mabel snickered. She ripped off the waistband of her shirt and tied it quickly around her hand, tugging a knot with her teeth right where Bill’s eye still burned on her palm. She hopped to her feet and set off to the shack, muttering to herself.

“Remember, _this_ is why we kept trying to kill him!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry my posting schedule makes no sense. Then again, who writes fanfiction if not sleep deprived college students?


	5. Recklessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fighting against making a mistake is often the best way to make one.

Mabel didn’t sleep that night, nor after. Reverting to short catnaps, she spent days pouring over her journals; trying to make sense of what Bill was planning. Her hand itched unbearably, revolting against the new bandage while she spent nights on the internet prowling paranoid forums. She replayed their conversations in her mind like rolls of film, but slept fitfully, hearing nothing but an electric buzz. Like a woman claimed, like an animal marked for slaughter, Mabel paced the walls of her room and dreaded the temptation of sleep.

She next saw Dipper four days after their argument, slinking into the attic in the dead of night. Mabel peered up at him, knowing how she must look. Lying flat on her bed, pen in hand, pouring over journals. Just how Ford used to, with dark circles deepening her eyes to match. _We all have to look so similar, don’t we?_ Dipper coughed. He broke the silence, sounding careful.

“You-what are you doing?” Mabel snapped the journals shut, fumbling from her whizzing mind back to exhausted limbs.

“I was writing.” She watched him grab clothes, the lamp reflecting off the grease in his hair. She wondered if he’d showered since they’d arrived. Seeing her brother, exhausted and filthy, felt like Mabel’s insides rusted over. She ached at the weary shake in his hands, the shy way her own brother hesitated around her. She tried her best to sound lighthearted. “You know, clean clothes can only do so much if you refuse to bathe.” Dipper huffed vaguely, looking thankful for the ease in tension. He easily snapped into a semblance of their old teasing rhythm.

“Well, I was going to wait for tomorrow morning, but you’re already awake-do you mind?” Mabel shook her head. She bit her lip nervously, then allowed herself a tricky question.

“What about-Ford?” Dipper avoided eye contact, but didn’t seem ruffled.

“He’s finally asleep in a bed so I’m going to assume I’ll see him in two days or so.” Dipper sighed, then collected his clothes and headed for the door. Mabel’s mouth moved on its own accord.

“You’re really kind with him, Dipper.I-you should be proud of yourself.” His hand on the doorframe, Dipper made a choked sound.

“He’s my hero. What am I supposed to do?” He looked so much like the kid she remembered that Mabel wondered how she’d forgotten him.

“You’re doing your best, Dipper.” Her brother swallowed and nodded shakily, the silence growing. He turned and walked briskly away, shower creaking to life shortly after. Mabel leaned against the headboard, the distant shower sounding like rain on tin. After a moment’s respite, Mabel frowned, a troublesome thought wiggling into her drowsy head.

_Ford is finally asleep._

She sat up in bed, mind whirring awake quickly. Ford tried so hard to stay awake... She slipped from her bed, padding lightly to the door and down the stairs to Ford’s bedroom door. The knob held fast, locked from inside. Mabel wanted to scream at his paranoia, and at how distinctly she understood. She took a deep breath and focused. The shower was still running-Dipper was tired and would probably linger as long as she could. At the very least, Mabel had five minutes. She had no concrete reason to worry, but a growing sense of dark panic rolled in Mabel’s mind. By the time she had justified it, Mabel had already crouched below Ford’s bedroom window; her fuzzy socks soaking up the dew. She stretched to her toes, fingers pulling on the windowsill as she peered in.

Ford curled in the corner of his bed, asleep yet rigid as steel. Mabel wished she could leave, could slip back upstairs unseen, but she could _feel_ Bill looming over Ford. It were as if the same dull buzzing that had plagued her thoughts gathered above Ford’s head like static.Mabel swore under her breath. She pressed her hand against the old wooden siding of the house and shut her eyes. Breathing deeply, Mabel waited, letting her mind expand over the shack.

She felt nothing. Confused, Mabel looked back into Ford’s room, instantly sensing Bill’s presence. She cursed again. How had she forgotten the unicorn boundary? Rubbing at burning eyes, Mabel settled back against the house. She toyed with the bandage on her hand, thinking fast. Bill _wanted_ her to use this, to call him. That was reason enough not to. Ford made a sound, a tiny scared noise just barely reaching her ears through the window. Mabel grit her teeth, fingers tangling in her own wiry curls. She felt like two people, both destructive; one selfish, safe, and cold, ready to leave Ford dreaming-the other was already burning, already staring transfixed into the scars on her palm.

The instant Mabel locked eyes with his image, colors burst before her eyes again, but not the aggressive flames Bill favored to herald his arrival. Instead, Mabel sunk into gradual, all-consuming blankets of color, shifting to every imaginable shade. The memory of a little girl’s optimistic hand wafted through her. Effortlessly, Mabel spiraled deeper, recognizing the magic of her unicorn boundary by the echoing call in her head. She wondered at the gloating, golden sensation in her chest. A bittersweet twinge colored the feeling as Mabel realized that this was the first time in seven years that she had felt _safe._

Except...a strange, leaden feeling growing in her left hand. Mabel fought the urge to look, but her bones grew thick with yellow fire that snapped her gaze to her hand. The reddened flesh seemed to ripple, then evaporate, leaving a gaping wound through which Bill’s eye stared. Mabel hissed through clenched teeth and held his gaze, instinctively knowing her mistake. She felt him bleeding through, from Ford’s dusty bedroom into the technicolor barrier that kept the demon trapped. She seethed, concentrating all her might on Bill, ignoring whatever mad tricks of physics he may pull, and battered at his eye with every ounce of her will. A memory flickered in the back of her mind; a stupid, selfish little girl. Setting the world on fire. Letting the flames in her mind consume even that, she never blinked.

Mabel Pines refused to doom the world a second time. Though dimensions burst around her, though she doubted whether or not this world even belonged to her, Mabel wove tight strands of color around her burning hand. They tightened across her skin, soaking in and constricting around Bill’s miniature portal. She smiled ruthlessly at Bill through her wounded hand.

“I guess I am still pure of heart, huh?” He squinted, and seemed to squirm, searching for an escape. Mabel prepared to close the wound permanently, but then a mad giggle rose from what felt like everywhere at once.

“Oh, you are going to _love_ this.” Mabel felt hands jolting her shoulders, felt her body handled as she clung to her mindscape. From a million miles away, Dipper’s voice came barreling through the barrier.

“ _Mabel!_ What the hell are you doing out here? Mabel--” His voice stuttered to a halt when fingers ripped at her left hand. “Mabel _what did you do?”_ She felt her guilt radiate through the boundary, sucking away the vestiges of peace in favor of heavy black fog. Dipper’s voice rang like a hammer from outside, spreading cracks through the world. Bill’s voice bellowed below, stretching through the shack.

“See, Shooting Star, you can only trick yourself for so long. We _both_ know that the goody-goodies only make trouble, now don’t we?” Mabel wrenched her eyes from Bill’s-looking instead to the cracks from the outside, glowing a faint blue. She gulped, wondering if moving would burst Bill’s prison. “Now be a good girl and let me out again, and I’ll give your weirdo back his brain. Wouldn’t you like Fordsy to be his nerdy self again?” She answered Bill mechanically, trying to distract him as she grasped for action.

“No deal, Bill. No deals at all. You can’t promise me anything worth what I know you’ll do after.” Bill’s eye flashed, showing a faraway figure.

“Not even to pay back a debt?” A knifelike pain went through her at the vision of her Grunkle Stan, falling over and over into the closing rift. A surge of wanting, of pure selfish impulse, crashed over her. Mabel didn’t have time to hesitate.

She slammed her right palm onto the brightest blue streak she saw. Her hand stung, the feeling leeched from her knuckles. Mabel’s body shook, and slowly the ruined world around her faded, two intertwined hands coming into focus. One hand looked like bone, clutching desperately tight to the other, which was shaking vigorously. A slight flash of blood smeared between them. Mabel blinked and released Dipper’s hand from her grip. He snatched it back, eyes whipping from his freshly wounded hand to Mabel. The fury and terror in her brother’s eyes brought bile to her throat.

“Mabel...what-what did you just do to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI sleep-deprivation makes you do a lot of stupid stuff and act like an asshole.  
> Speaking from experience.


End file.
